


on his lips (a whispered name)

by Pandemic



Series: even if it makes me blind (i just want to see the light) [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-19 15:17:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19976224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandemic/pseuds/Pandemic
Summary: "You are a patchwork man," he had laughed, "who on earth would want to stick around to stitch you back together?"





	on his lips (a whispered name)

**Author's Note:**

> ptsd love-soaked aftercare. that's it. that's the story.
> 
> i recommend reading the other parts to this, but it can probably just about make sense as a stand-alone.

Steve wakes, for the first time in a while, with a dying scream on his lips and sweat beading across his forehead. He chokes out a, “Bucky – _run_ –“ before he realises that he’s not in the midst of a humid forest, but an air-conditioned room. His bed is soft under his fingers, not brick hard, and the buzz of life is noticeably absent.

Tony is sat up beside him, watching him with concern framing his eyes, “Hello darling.” He says, cautiously, “You were having a nightmare, it’s not happening again. You came to stay at my apartment tonight. Can you do me a favour sweetheart, and tell me if it’s okay for me to touch you?” 

Steve’s eyes won’t track properly, swinging across the room. “Yes. Please.” He chokes out past the smoke on his tongue.

Tony slowly places a hand on Steve’s bare thigh, tracing featherlike circles across the bare expanse of skin, “Thanks sweetheart, you are doing so well. Can you take some deep breaths for me?” he turns so he faces Steve more, uses his other hand to gently clasp Steve’s right. He gradually brings their joined hands up to his chest, so that Steve can feel the soft inhale-exhale of his lover’s chest. “Try breathe in tandem with me, Steve.”

It feels like the first time Steve got tinnitus. They’d been ambushed, off a chokepoint in the providence of Kandahar. Steve had always had good hearing, and it had probably saved his life, the fraction of time he’d heard the high pitched screech of mortar shells giving him a head start to scream “Down!” and pull him and Bucky to the desert floor. They’d been blown back with the force of it, an odd ringing piercing Steve’s ears, looking up and terrified that he couldn’t make out what Bucky was screaming.

That single minded terror and confusion is all he can think of now. He can feel Bucky’s hands round his wrist, pulling him up. He can _see_ Nat in his vision across the room, down and bleeding. He can smell death in the air, and fire in his lungs.

“Steve, Steve? Come back to me. You’ve disappeared. It’s not happening again, it’s just a flashback.” Steve can hear Tony’s voice like it’s coming through water, and his mind tries to wade toward it. It feels like he’s walking through motor oil, slick and hot.

“Tony – Tony” he can’t do anything else but repeat his lover’s name, like he’s praying to a higher power. He feels hands across his skin, light and slow, providing a lodestar in the midst of the havoc of his mind. It clears slowly, and looking up at Tony smiling at him is like looking directly at the sunrise, like dawn breaking across his back.

“There you are.” Tony says, and Steve feels the hot rush of shame course through his skin. _You are a patchwork man,_ Brock had laughed, _who on earth would want to stick around to stitch you back together?_

“I’m sorry –“ he can barely get out, before Tony is shaking his head empathically.

“Never be sorry,” Tony says, voice fierce, “You are safe. You are here. You are mine.” The words are soaked in fierce adoration, “Sam said it was likely they’d kick up again as your mind begins to process therapy.”

“I shouldn’t have let you convince me to stay here tonight,” Steve says, pain lancing through him, “I could have hurt you.”

“You’d never willingly hurt me, Steve. You’ve never even shown the slightest sign, not even in the worst of your flashbacks, that I’m in danger. I wouldn’t have let you stay if you had.” Tony says, and the honesty behind them mean so much to Steve. He needs to know Tony is safe like he needs to breathe, like the oxygen in his lungs.

“Thank you Tones.” Steve says, voice soft. Tony still has one of his hands clasped in his, though he’s lowered it from his heart, and Steve gives it a quick squeeze, reaching forward to kiss him with dry lips. It’s quick and there’s no heat, but the pair feel better for it.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Tony asks him softly, and Steve shakes his head in response. He feels _itchy_ now, like he wants to crawl out of his own skin.

“Could do with a shower.” He says in response, crooks a brow, “Want to join me?”

“If you’re sure.” Tony replies, and Steve is hit with a rush of tender affection for this miracle of a man. He could not do enough to deserve him in a thousand lifetimes.

“Positive.” Steve steps out the bed, pulls Tony by the wrist behind him.

The one luxury of Tony’s house that Steve loves more than life itself, is Tony’s bathroom.

Well, more specifically, Tony’s wet room. It’s massive, the floor dark marble that slants just enough to notice into the middle of the room, the walls grey slate. Steve’s main love, though, was the rainforest shower that sprawls across the ceiling, controlled via a remote with more buttons than was strictly necessary.

They stroll lazily, shedding clothes as they walk, until they connect together in the centre of the room. Tony reaches past him, switching the water onto Steve’s favourite setting (and Steve is again struck by how _lucky_ he is to have this man). The water beats his back just this side of painful, wrenching a groan from him. He looks up through the rising steam, stepping further into Tony’s space, asking a silent question with hands that still slightly shake. Tony knows already, hands moving to wrap around him and capture Steve’s lips with his own.

The kisses are slow, with no destination, no rush. It’s breathtakingly intimate, stood together with no sound but the water falling around them.

Steve stands soaking under the downpour, arms full of the man he loves, and begins to heal. 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Please_ do drop a comment, or find me on [tumblr](https://eachxnn.tumblr.com/)


End file.
